


Chasing (a ghost of you)

by knightinpinkunderwear



Category: Gotham (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Don't copy to another site, Drugs, Edward Nygma is the Riddler, Flashbacks, Guns, Hallucinations, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pining, Sherlock in Denial, Shooting Guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:47:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinpinkunderwear/pseuds/knightinpinkunderwear
Summary: Sherlock is guilty, chasing down the ghost of who he thinks Nygma is now.(Ed is now the riddler)(Alternate universe where Ed worked at Scotland Yard not the GCPD)
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Edward Nygma
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Chasing (a ghost of you)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Edlock](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/539113) by Spellbound. 



> Some time ago I found "edlock" videos on youtube. There are 11 of those video edits and I've watched all of them so many times and for some reason I love the idea? Even though I am not a big fan of BBC's Sherlock. 
> 
> I dont know why I just like these two smart idiots being in close proximity. 
> 
> Heavily inspired by this video edit by Spellbound https://youtu.be/ZuOgp4trA_w

There's laughter in his ears, it's deeper, more cruel than usual.

"Rise and shine!" He turns, it's Nygma and not Nygma all in one.

He's leaning against the bookshelf next to a window. He isn't wearing his glasses and his hair is too straight. His clothes are darker and better fitting than the forensic has ever worn. A shining watch on his wrist tick-tick-ticking away the seconds.

Sherlock Holmes doesn't believes in ghosts, it's not proven, not scientific. But he doesn't have a better name for the apparation and how it perfectly exemplifies a haunting.

He knows, deep down that not-Nygma isn't really there. Just like he knows it's not Edward Nygma, the forensic with useless tid-bits and riddles.

_"_ _I've_ _never liked riddles," he bites out harshly._  
 _The face falls, looking unbearably_ _young_ _as it does so. Nygma tries to hide, ducking his head down and pushing_ _up_ _his glasses. And Sherlick doesn't care about the hurt that's in his eyes, feelings don't_ _matter_ _, all that matters is the case and solving it._

The real Nygma is somewhere in the streets of London planning his next big crime, like it's a performance he needs to rehearse for. Like it's a stage with a spotlight for him to steal.

And Sherlock thought he'd known the man, Nygma had been so easy to read, even Lestrade or the idiot Anderson could read him.

_Bright eyes, eager to please, socially inept,_ _clingy._

The ghost laughs again. The couch cushions feel like the soft, white walls of a padded room. And he feels like he's slipping, his mind is slipping.

He follows the ghost to the kitchen, it's playing with a kitchen knife, the blade is large and triangular.

"Should I cut you open? Are you different on the inside?" It asks mockingly.

Instead of responding he goes to the fridge. There still a head in it.

"And they called me morbid!" The ghost laughs, "Do you want to cut me open? Try to find the peices of the puzzle that you missed, oh greatest detective?"

The ghost's grin is like Nygma's, it appears too wide for his face. But theres something different in the ghost's eyes.

_"Why is this fun, you psycho, some poor bloke is dead!" Donovan shouts, Nygma's grin drops._

_"And the only thing_ _I_ _can do is help you find who did it." His voice is quiet and firm. "It's_ _easier_ _to think of it as a puzzle,"_

 _"I bet you like puzzles," she responds, in a cruel manner. Sherlock tunes them out, their prattle is_ _invaluable_ _compared to the observations he's making of the crime scene._

And he's on the phone with Lestrade, and no there aren't any leads on Nygma, why do you ask?  
And he's got another shot of heroin, or is it the first for today? Maybe it will get the Nygma-not-Nygma to go away.

It doesn't.

The room is spinning and he's sweating. A gun is in his hand and the ghost is grinning like the smiley he'd shot into the wall-paper, smugness dripping down like the yellow spray paint.

BANG.

The bullet rips into drywall a few inches (or is it centimeters?) from the glass pane of the window.

"That, is uncalled for," his there-not-there companion says, he's on the other side of the room now.

"What's going on?" Sherlock has a phone in his hand, John's voice sounding tinny through the speaker. He doesn't remember answering. But he does take another shot at not-Nygma.

And he's on the floor, something's broken.

"Look at you, everyone is gonna think you're going nuts!" It's laughing at him. Then he's laughing with it. Manic. With the thrill of a successful experiment almost.

_The noise is a strange mixture of_ _grunt_ _and giggle, Nygma looks_ _insane_ _and_ _ecstatic_ _with his_ _ill fitting_ _grey suit and a welder's mask pulled over his face and square glasses. A bright and almost manic grin on his face._

Why didn't he see what Nygma was becoming? How did he miss it?

_Nygma went still when he glared, like the emotion of anger was too much for him to allow himself to breathe or relax the flare in his_ _nostrils_ _and the pinched frown in his lip. But the most he'd ever done to repay the insults was a simple; "I don't like to be called names,"_

Nygma had tricked him. That was it, he had to have known how to fool others, make them think he was an awkward and harmless young man.

But no.

Sherlock had seen Nygma lie, he was horrid at it, looking so guilty and upset about the meer idea of lying or cheeting.

_"How do you do that?" Sherlock had raised an eyebrow, not_ _deigning_ _to use words. "Not care about what they say_ _behind_ _your back?"_

How was it that Nygma turned into this organized criminal, stealing life, art, and attention. How had he turned into a confident showman from a quiet scientist who could hardly even speak up for himself.  
How did the harmless and meek man turn into a murderer and, as John would call him, a monster?

And how, _how_ , had Sherlock missed it?

He turned to the ghost, it was standing under the yellow smiley on the wall, its face twisted into the same expression. With manic eyes and an unnaturally large grin.

"You weren't paying attention." Comes the answer, from his ghost.

And then it was gone.

Somehow, it felt like a loss.

John came home, shouted at him, but it was white noise compared to the memories echoing in his head. Heroin still buzzing through his veins.

Oh, the memories, coming back like he'd gone through the palace library and found everything filled under E.Nygma.

Riddles, tidbits, actually clever forensic analysis and suggestions. Little moments that now seemed... personal.

He had a lot of the peices, he could have known Edward Nygma, forensic science and analyst for Scotland Yard under Lestrade.

Nygma had offered that, tried it.

And as John calmed down he was left with himself and the grief. Of what Nygma used to be, of the ghost, of what the two of them could have had.

It was easier to pretend he was a sociopath most times, becuase he didn't care much about most any people. Not his brother. But he found himself hurting, opening the door to chase a ghost of someone he almost knew, out into the streets of London _chasing_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed, again I cant say why I like the idea of Edlock, but I just like it. 
> 
> Have a good day!


End file.
